


Pulling Back The Veil

by my_dear_holmes



Series: My Sherlock one-shots [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Dreams, Dreams and Nightmares, I have no idea where Mary is supposed to be, M/M, Mary Shoots Sherlock, Mind Palace, Nightmares, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Shooting, she just isn't with John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_dear_holmes/pseuds/my_dear_holmes
Summary: Sherlock has a nightmare about Mary shooting him. John is there to comfort him.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: My Sherlock one-shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096340
Kudos: 43





	Pulling Back The Veil

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the brief scene of Mary in her wedding dress when Sherlock is in his mind palace, S3 Ep3

Sherlock crept through the silent corridors of his mind palace. He had just left the rather large room about ash identification and on his left was a poster on ways of identifying a light smoker, illustrated with several diagrams. Two doors lead off of this hallway, one that lead to alcohol abuse symptoms and the other a complex of rooms on drugs and their effect. He had to admit, the latter’s doorknob was well worn from frequent bored wanderings.

Each of his steps seemed to creak ridiculously loud in the silent hall. The main chamber was up ahead, and off it branched all the wings and passages of his mind palace. 

He pushed open the large oak doors and entered the main hall. Seats lined the walls of a courtroom, and each of them were empty. In fact, the entirety of his mind palace just seemed too quiet. There wasn’t usually much noise here, it was only even him and anyone that was useful. Certainly, anyone making too much noise was immediately silenced. But today it seemed like the air had been pulled from the vast expanse of rooms. He could hear his heart beating in his chest and his breathing echoed for what seemed like hours around the high ceilings.

Sherlock stood still for a minute, pondering which wing he should re-explore next. It didn't take long. The wing he was thinking of was not only one of the biggest, but the most frequently wandered. Sherlock slowly paced over to the doors on the opposite side of the hall. He reached out a hand to touch the polished brass panel, inscribed with the passage's name. John Watson. 

Before he could reach for the handles, the doors swung open, and the click of the latch rang through his head. Filling the doorway was Mary Watson, ghostly pale in her wedding dress and her veil covering her face. She raised her arm straight out in front of her, in her hand a gun. It seemed jet black against the pure, unmarked white lace of her wedding gown.

"Don't make me shoot you, Sherlock," Mary said, "Don't make me pull the trigger."

Beneath the veil, he could see a smile - no, a manic grin - plastered across the bride's face. Sherlock tried to speak, to reason with Mary, to make her lower the gun, to tell her that he would stay away, but no voice escaped. Every time he tried to make a noise it felt like he was choking, drowning in air. When he tried to take a step back, to lunge out of range, his feet were stuck fast to the floor.

"I'm sorry Sherlock, I truly am," Mary said, her smile spread to her voice and made it sound sickly sweet, coating the air so that every time Sherlock tried to speak, it was like drinking treacle.

A tiny movement in her finger was all it took for his quiet space to be filled with the sound of a single gunshot, the walls shaking with the noise of the explosion. Sherlock felt the bullet tear through his body, wrecking the flesh and shattering his ribs, coming to rest in the centre of his heart.

“Sorry that I didn’t miss this time.”

The first thing to come was the blood, first dribbling, then flowing down his chest and staining the white fabric of his shirt a vibrant scarlet. The second thing to come was the pain. It was overwhelming, blinding, as if he could feel every inch of ruined flesh. He fell onto his back, shuddering as the impact brought on a new wave of searing pain.

Mary was still standing in the doorway, and she slowly pulled back the veil obscuring her face. At first, Sherlock thought she was crying. Then he realised she was laughing. An out of control, terrifying laugh. "Goodbye Sherlock," she said, and walked backwards through the doors marked with John's name. The heavy wood doors swung shut, and there was a click as they locked. Sherlock couldn’t keep his head up any more, and his head hit the floor. He tried to raise his head again, but he could only manage an inch off the ground. but it was high enough to see the the doors had sealed forever, the handle and lock no longer visible and the hinges vanished. There wasn't even a join where the door had previously been split into two. It was just a wooden expanse, marked with John’s name, completely unreachable by Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to call for John now, his last hope, his only hope, but the sound failed at his lips. He tried again and again, but all that escaped him were tiny gasps of pain. He called out one last time, but no one answered. He was going to die alone. At least his last thoughts would be of John, the man that had saved him so many times. The man that always saved him. But John couldn’t save him this time. The pain was unbearable as Sherlock began to close his eyes, his vision going black like the end of a horrifying play. John... John... John...

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Wake up!"

Sherlock woke and sat up suddenly, causing him vision to swim . He was soaking wet, and for a split second he thought it was his own seeping blood, but then realised it was sweat. He reached a hand up to his chest. All that was there was his smooth, slightly slippery skin and a bullet wound scar. The work of the real Mary. He gasped for air desperately, trying to fend off the panic he still felt.

Leaning over him was John, his chest bare and his hair messy, sticking up in spikes. "Sherlock, are you OK?"

"Ng," he said, swallowing to add some much needed moisture to his throat, and then croaked "What happened?"

"You were talking in your sleep. Telling someone to stop, that you weren't going to hurt them. That you were going to stay away. And you were shouting my name. I kept trying to wake you up but you just wouldn't. It was just a dream Sherlock, just a nightmare."

Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed, letting out a quick breath. It was OK. Mary wasn’t here anymore. He was here with John. and John wasn’t going to leave.

“Sherlock,” John said softly, “What happened?”

“I was in my Mind Palace,” he said, rubbing a hand over his brow. “And Mary was there. She… She shot me. Again.”

“Oh god,” John whispered. “I’m so sorry Sherlock. I’m so sorry. I never should have gotten with her. I never should have married her. I never should have let her do this to you.”

“It’s OK John, you saved me. You saved my life.”

“No I didn’t. I wasn’t there with you. I didn’t get there in time.”

“Doesn’t mean you didn’t save me.” John’s sharp blue eyes met with Sherlock’s and he bent down to place a soft kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. It was meant to be short, but Sherlock started kissing back and it soon became several. It didn’t last long, but Sherlock was still amazed by it. Amazed by John. Amazed that they were finally together. John broke away and kissed a path across Sherlock's cheek and down to the base of his throat .

“I love you,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s neck.

“I love you too.” He was still sweaty, still trying to forget, still healing, but it was OK. Because him and John were together, and because he could always rely on John Watson to save him.


End file.
